What had I chosen?
I was in the Void again, and I couldn't bear to see it. I shuddered in the darkness, refusing to look anywhere, refusing to face whatever visions waited for me there. I drew my knees to my chest and pressed my forehead against them, as though I could make myself smaller — as though that might quiet the panic closing in around me. It clung to my thoughts, relentless, until all I wanted was for it to stop.
I had died.
I felt something leave me. Something fundamental. Something that had always been there. And then I felt something else take its place. It moved through me slowly, deliberately, threading itself through body and soul. Inch by inch, it claimed me. Part of me fought it, recoiling from the invasion, but another part — reckless and unchained — welcomed it.
In the darkness, I surrendered. And once I did, the pain was gone.
Images from the final moments before I slipped under flashed through my mind in sharp, broken fragments.
Speeding through the South Side of Averon City. Music so loud it drowned out my screams as the pain came in waves. An arm pinning me to the seat as stabbing pain tore through my body. Something foreign crawling beneath my skin, inside me, and my hands clawing desperately as if I could tear it out. Darien's voice so calm and soothing yet it was strained. This transformation felt chaotic. Unpractised. As though he had never done anything like this before.
Then I remembered the fire.
Heat tore through my body and finally exploded through my gums, white-hot and unbearable, and I saw the moment of realisation cross Darien's face. Fangs.
I have fangs now.
I will feed on people.
The thought made my stomach twist. Would it be violent? Would it feel the way it had when it was done to me?
What had I chosen? What kind of life had I chosen over the finality of death? When I wake up, I had no idea what I would be like. Will I be some fierce creature to be scared of? Will I hunt people, stalk them in the night and feast on their blood as they bleed out.
Then another memory surfaced. Being carried into the church. Stone arches flashing past. Candlelight guiding our way. Darien laying me upon the altar like an offering. I remembered the stained-glass window. There was a beautiful woman with her arms open wide, as though welcoming me. And despite the pain, despite the horror of my blood spilling across the stone, I felt something I hadn't expected.
Comfort.
I wasn't alone.
He was there. And somehow, that was enough to make me believe I would be alright. Even knowing what I was becoming. Even without understanding what it truly meant. Darien didn't feel like a monster. And if he wasn't one… perhaps I wouldn't be either. I remembered the way his purple eyes had glowed as he placed his hand against my forehead. A fleeting, foolish thought followed - would my eyes glow like that too? What colour would they be?
He spoke a language I had never heard before. It was ancient, melodic, and impossibly beautiful.
The pain began to fade, and then the world went black.
I didn't know whether I still lay upon that stone-cold altar, or if Darien had carried me somewhere else entirely. What I did know was this: the moment everything faded to black, I returned to the void.
I looked up from my knees and saw it clearly now. It wasn't just black anymore. Tiny fragments of light pulsed within it, scattered and subtle, as though something ancient had cracked and begun to glow from within. Flecks shimmered faintly, appearing and vanishing when I wasn't looking directly at them, ethereal and half-formed.
It reminded me of a darker version of lapis lazuli. When I was younger, Iah and her father had taken me to see a set of ancient gates — I honestly cannot recall their name. I only remembered their deep blue surface, dusted with golden light, and how I had stood there far longer than I meant to, struck by the way the stone seemed to glow from the inside, as though the night sky had been pressed flat and frozen in place.
This felt like that.
Only instead of a rich cerulean blue, I was met with ebony black, fractured by iridescent cracks that sparkled without any light at all — as though illumination had been buried beneath the darkness, waiting to be unearthed. When I turned to look ahead of me, I was greeted by the Eye.
Its inverted crescent iris burned a vivid green, no longer an outline but whole, rimmed in gold. I flinched despite myself. It was even more eerie in colour, gilded and watching.
Then I felt fur brush against my hand. I whipped my arm up and looked down to find the wolf standing at my side. Its coat was a blend of white and grey, solid and real, its eyes still that unmistakable, luminous purple I had seen before. The Eye drifted closer to it, pausing as if silently greeting it. The wolf bowed its head in response, and the Eye flashed brighter green — and though the thought felt ridiculous, I could only interpret it as happiness.
This was madness.
And yet, I felt utterly at ease. Of course I recognised them. I had seen these symbols countless times before. Something about becoming a vampire had dragged my visions out of shadow and into colour. As a human, I had dreaded these symbols, yet now, seeing them felt like encountering old friends.
A sudden rush of air made me duck as wings beat overhead. I looked up just in time to see an owl soar above us before landing a short distance away. Its feathers were white, but it glowed faintly blue, thin sparks of electricity flickering within its large, unblinking eyes.
It did not move. It only watched — assessing us, or perhaps assessing me, as though it hadn't yet decided what I was.
The other symbols — now fully realised and awash with colour — lingered in the distance. The flame. The forest. The flower. They kept their distance, while the Eye and the wolf never left my side.
A strange, fleeting thought crossed my mind. It's going to be difficult learning how to draw in colour. The realisation startled me. Perhaps my visions wouldn't mind remaining in black and white.
The wolf suddenly yelped, snapping my attention back to the void. It darted ahead, stopping at an iridescent crack that split the darkness like fractured glass. It circled it, glancing back at me insistently.
You want me to see something, I realised.
I approached the crack — and froze.
Voices spilled through.
"What do you mean you can't do anything? Our daughter wouldn't just run away!"
My mama's voice. Hoarse. Raw. As though she had been crying for days. My heart clenched painfully.
"Ma'am, we've been over this," an older man replied, weary and exasperated. "You've received correspondence from her. She's over eighteen. There's nothing further we can do. Sometimes adult children cut ties with their parents. I don't know what else to tell you."
Correspondence? I never left anything to suggest I was running away. Perhaps it was Darien. But how?
"Not our little girl!" my mama shouted back.
I winced. I would never want to be on the receiving end of her wrath.
I didn't hear my father speak, but the crack flared brighter, voices overlapping and shifting.
"Val, we have to do something."
Iah.
"Even I agree Elena wouldn't just disappear. I know her better than anyone. She isn't reckless. She's too sensible for that."
The words hurt more than I expected. Sensible. Careful. Predictable.
I had been those things once — before the visions, before everything fell apart — and I was tired of being the sensible one.
"Iah, please," Val said softly. "Isn't it better to believe she's safe than to imagine something worse? I know this isn't like her, but you saw the email."
An email.
"She was hacked!" Iah snapped. And for once, she was right.
The crack pulsed, the voices blurring as something tight and aching settled in my chest. No matter what I had chosen — death or this half-life — I had hurt them anyway.
"Elena."
A voice from behind me made me startle. It was warm and familiar somehow, though I didn't recognise it. I turned, and the stranger appeared before me, formed of black shadow threaded with a green glow. I couldn't see any definable features, but the voice was female.
"Who are you?" I called to it. The Eye appeared beside me, its iris flashing bright green in encouragement.
"A friend," it replied. Green, smoky tendrils unfurled around the stranger, curling and swirling as they connected us, just as they had in my vision before — only this time, no hand was offered.
"For real," I replied sarcastically. "I have been through enough today without needing any more cryptic messaging. What do you want from me? Why am I here? Give me some answers, or so help me I will—"
"You will what?" the stranger interrupted calmly. "In the Veil, you do cannot cause any physical harm. You have only just been turned into a veilbound and barely understand what that entails. You need my guidance, Elena."
So my void had a name. The Veil. That seemed fitting. Veilbound, however, confused me.
"Veilbound? I thought I was turned into a vampire."
The stranger ignored my question.
"Elena, your death was no accident. It was planned by forces you do not yet understand, but will. Be on your guard, for you are more valuable than you realise."
The words didn't make sense at first.
Planned.
My death was planned?
By who? Why would anyone want me dead? I was nobody. Just a girl from the suburbs, living an ordinary life, trying to survive typical life stressers. The thought crashed into me all at once, heavy and suffocating.
Vampires were real.
I was one of them now.
And this — this — had happened because someone wanted me dead.
The realisation was too much. My mind reeled, scrambling for something solid to hold onto, but there was nothing. Only the echo of her words, repeating, tightening around my chest.
The stranger began to dissolve into the green tendrils, her eyes burning white, glowing with sudden, blinding intensity.
"What? Wait — no. You can't go," I shouted, panic bleeding into anger. "You need to tell me what's going on!"
"Elena, you must discover what this means on your own. Until then, wake up. You need to feed."
Her eyes flashed brilliant white and the Star seared into my vision
I opened my eyes — and felt hunger.
**********
Every sense alerted me to his presence. The first thing I saw were purple eyes, wide, alert, cautious. The first thing I smelled was pine, sandalwood, leather… and a faint tang of alcohol. The first thing I heard was a low hum, deep and steady, coming from the man in front of me. I could hear it. His blood. Rushing. Thick. Warm. My fangs elongated on their own, aching, my hunger sharp and screaming. He wasn't prey — not really — but he was something, something that could fill the fire inside me. I needed it. I needed him.
"Elen—" he began, but I didn't let him finish. I lunged, growling, claws and fangs, an unhinged eruption of need. I was on top of him, my teeth exposed. He grabbed my arms as I sank toward his neck, but he rolled, throwing me off. I hit the ground a few feet away, eyes locked on him, and hissed. He was already on his feet, watching, frozen. He wasn't going to get away from me that easy.
I launched myself again. Our bodies collided, thudding, rolling. He tried to pin me down, to control me. I anticipated, swatted his hands aside, and using my thighs I locked on him and ended up on top straddling him. Arms trapped above him, I bit into his neck. His groan was low, different from fear — softer, richer, almost… inviting.
The blood burned, not with fear or pain, but with life, and it coursed through me like fire. Heat bloomed in my chest, flared to my face, sank deep into my core. I moaned, unthinking, answering the hum of him inside me. Yet, it didn't satiate me like food, no it was feeding a different kind of hunger. This blood was different — sharper, deeper, more alive.
His arms wrapped around me, holding me, steadying me, and I gasped at the strength and closeness and pulled away and looked at him. His purple eyes locked onto mine, intense, magnetic, and something ignited — a fire between us I couldn't name. My body moved instinctively, hips shifting, matching his rhythm. I bent, drank again, and for the first time, I realised this hunger wasn't just need. It was connection.
Then the unseen hand dragged me away.
"NO!" I screamed, tearing at it, but my focus stayed locked on him — dark hair, purple eyes, the fire still burning.
"Easy, lass. Relax. If you relax, I'll let you go. That's enough."
A strong arm wrapped around my chest, holding me in place as I kicked and thrashed. I stared at the man I was taken from. He mirrored me — panting, wild, wanting.
"Daz, for fuck's sake, go take a walk. I've got her. She'll be fine."
Daz…
He stared at me for what felt like forever, then dropped his head and glared at the floor, still breathing hard.
"I'm fine. What the hell was that, Bast?"
Bast…
Should I know these names? I struggled harder against the one holding me, growling. He only held tighter.
"Easy, wee darlin. I got you. Yeah, sorry, I should have mentioned she'd be feral until her first feed. I brought blood. Get my bag."
I watched as the dark haired one turned away from me and walked away. Rage and loss filled me and I fought with my captor. He was mine. I growled loudly,
"MINE!"
His back straightened and he paused. He then went back to grabbing the bag.
"You just happen to leave that part out, you son-of-a-bitch?" I watched him hungrily as he brought over the bag, inside were even smaller bags of… my nostrils picked up a new scent. Sustenance.
"It's been over 200 years. You expect me to remember every minute detail? It wasn't exactly a favourite memory. Just be lucky you were her first and not some poor soul out there."
The dark-haired one scoffed and approached. I stared up at him, smiling, baring my sharp teeth and dragging my tongue slowly over them in open provocation. His own sharp teeth slid down in response, and for a moment he hesitated and stared back at me.
"Honest to gods, the state of you two," the annoying one holding me muttered.
I had the sudden urge to hurt him. He was keeping me from what was mine. I growled and twisted in his grip, but his arm remained locked around my chest, unyielding.
"Just give her the blood," he said sharply to the dark-haired one.
I watched as he bit into the bag with elongated fangs, dark red spilling where the plastic tore. Some of it splattered faintly against his face, and the desire to lean forward and lick it from his skin surged through me. The scent hit me then — rich, intoxicating — and I moved towards it instinctively, dragging my captor a step with me. When the bag was pressed to my lips, I seized it and drank desperately.
It was cold. I didn't like that. His had been warm — alive. I had preferred that. Yet this still nourished me. It filled something simpler, quieter. My hunger.
I finished the bag quickly, and another replaced it without protest. I took that one more slowly. It didn't taste metallic the way I had imagined it would. Not rust. Not iron. Instead, it was grounding, layered in a way I hadn't expected. The first had been sweet, almost floral, with faint hints of rain. The second was drier — earth and stone. The blood itself tasted the same, yet beneath it were subtle notes, as though each carried something of the person it had belonged to.
Halfway through a third — herbs and rain mingled together — I stilled.
I'm drinking people.
The thought struck clean and sharp.
I lifted my eyes to Darien.
His name came back to me fully formed, as though a door had quietly opened in my mind. I realised then that I was no longer being restrained. The other man stood beside him.
Bastian.
The both stared at me as my memory returned in a rush — the attack, Darien turning me, the pain, the hunger, the loss of control. My hands began to shake, and I clenched my fists without thinking, crumpling the blood bag in my grip. Shame rose hot and suffocating as I looked at Darien.
I had attacked him. I had drunk from him. I had tried to do impure things with his body. I remember claiming him as mine.
Mortification burned through me. Of course he wasn't mine. How could I have been so territorial, so feral? That wasn't me.
But you aren't you anymore.
The thought slipped through my mind like a whisper.
Darien took a single step towards me.
"Please don't come any closer," I said, my voice breaking despite the strength in it.
He stopped.
I couldn't look at him. There were too many emotions crashing through me at once, battering every corner of my being. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bastian grip Darien's arm and gesture behind him. After a moment's hesitation, Darien stepped away. Only then did I lift my gaze as Bastian approached.
"May I sit, Elena?" he asked, his voice calm, almost gentle.
I nodded.
I had drawn my knees up to my chest again, staring at nothing — or rather, at the intricate grain of the wooden floorboards beneath me. They were startlingly clear now, every scratch, every speck of dust painfully sharp to my new sight. I felt Bastian lower himself beside me. He didn't crowd me. He simply sat and looked at the floorboards too.
"You've just gone through the biggest and most fucked-up change of your life," he said quietly. "There's no point asking if you're all right. But I'd be a dick if I didn't ask. So… how are you feeling?"
I looked at him then. There were faint flecks of gold in his deep blue eyes I'd never noticed before. His face held the same kindness I'd seen when he'd handed me water at Club Dusk, patient and curious.
"I don't know," I said after what felt like a long stretch of silence. "Right now I'm feeling… everything. My life was a mess, yes — but it was my mess. I was working through it. And then I was murdered. Murdered." The word felt unreal and raw in my mouth. "And after that, I'm given a choice — become a monster or die."
Bastian flinched slightly at that. I noticed and immediately felt a flicker of guilt.
"Sorry," I muttered shyly. He shook his head and waited for me to continue.
"I went through pain after pain after pain until I blacked out. I ended up in the Void. I heard my parents speaking to the police. I heard my friends arguing about how I would never just disappear. And some stranger told me my death was planned." My voice trembled despite my effort to steady it. "Then I wake up feral. I attack Darien. I drink from him. And now I'm drinking bags of people just to survive."
The weight of it crashed down on me all over again. "I'm devastated. I'm mortified. I'm disgusted. I'm angry. All at once."
The energy inside me had nowhere to go. I surged to my feet and crossed the room in a blur, slamming my fists into the wall. Once. Twice. Again. A raw sound tore from my throat with every strike — half sob, half snarl.
Then I noticed the wall.
It wasn't my hands breaking.
It was the wood.
Cracks splintered outward with each blow. Indentations formed where my fists had landed. I froze, breath hitching, and slowly stepped back.
My strength was… impossible.
"Easy, easy, lass."
Bastian was beside me in an instant. He placed a steady hand against my upper back and gently guided me towards one of the couches. Only then did I properly take in the room around me.
There were three sofas, each completely different from the next, as though someone had refused to commit to a single taste. A dark green velvet one with wide, rounded arms. A sleek grey modern piece perched on silver feet, all sharp lines and narrow rests. And a deep red fabric couch drowning in absurdly plush, almost bougie cushions. Bastian settled me on the green velvet one, I was grateful.
They were arranged around an enormous flat-screen television, beneath which sat every latest console imaginable, neatly lined up on a low stand. The space itself was open, a small kitchen tucked into the back corner. I frowned faintly at that. Vampires needed kitchens?
Beyond it stretched a short hallway with four doors — two on either side — and one final door at the end that I assumed was a bathroom. The floors and walls were wood, warm-toned and polished. Yet beneath that, faint but undeniable, I could smell something older. Cold stone. Stale incense. As though this place wore modern life like a disguise over something ancient.
Where the hell was I?
I glanced down at myself and froze.
I was wearing an oversized, worn band T-shirt and joggers, thick white socks pulled up over my ankles. My arms instinctively folded over my chest as I realised my bra was gone. Heat crept up my neck.
"Where are we? How long was I unconscious? Where did my clothes go?!" The last question came out sharper than I intended.
Bastian didn't look surprised. If anything, he looked prepared.
"You're in Darien's home," he said calmly. At the mention of Darien, I noted he had completely disappeared. "You were out for three days. We had to change you — your clothes were in a pretty sorry state after the attack. Torn. Bloodied. All that."
My hand flew to my neck and shoulder.
Smooth.
No tenderness. No scarring. No raised flesh.
It was as if nothing had ever happened.
"How—"
Bastian smirked slightly.
"Our healing process is instantaneous. Especially after we've fed well."
I stared at him.
I think some part of me had expected to carry the marks forever. To wear the proof of what had been done to me like a brand. Instead, my skin was flawless.
I supposed the scars would simply be elsewhere now.
"This is all a bit much," I muttered, sinking back against the couch.
"It is." Bastian nodded slowly. "It's reminded me a lot of my own turning."
That startled me. For some reason, I hadn't truly considered that this had happened to him too. As if I were uniquely unfortunate. It was an absurd thought. How often were people turned into vampires? I guess Bastian and I were the lucky few.
"What was it like for you?" I asked quietly, unsure whether I was crossing a line.
He hesitated. "W-I was murdered as well. By who? I'll never know. I think it was random. Some arsehole had starved himself into a feral state." His jaw tightened slightly. I saw pain in his eyes. "After he was finished, he left me to die slowly. I was found by another vampire. They turned me. They fucked off in the night and I don't know who they were either."
"You didn't get a choice?"
He shook his head once. "No."
I watched him as he spoke. The pain was there — familiar, but older. Settled. Weathered.
"When was this?"
"Around 1744. Scotland." He said it casually, as though he hadn't just revealed he was nearly three centuries old. It explained the faint lilt in his voice.
"Right," I breathed. "So… we can live a very long time."
A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Seems that way."
The thought made something shift uneasily inside me.
"Wait. When was Darien turned? Is he the same age as you?"
Bastian raised an eyebrow.
"Daz is veilborne. Means he was born a vampire. Him and his twin sister. Late 1700s, I think. Don't quote me."
Veilborne.
The word snagged in my mind.
"Then I'm veilbound," I said slowly. "Meaning I was turned. Like you."
He frowned. "How do you know that?"
"The stranger," I replied. "In the Void. Or… the Veil. She told me I was veilbound. I didn't understand it at the time."
Bastian studied me for a moment. "You can access the Veil," he said thoughtfully. "I saw it in your drawings."
My head snapped up. "You saw my drawings?"
I expected anger. Instead, curiosity rose first. "Do you know what they mean?"
For the first time since sitting down, Bastian looked uncomfortable. He slapped his hands against his knees and stood abruptly.
"Well. I should be going. I only came to drop off the temporary feed. The rest is for Darien to handle."
Panic flared sharp and immediate.
"You're leaving? I still have questions. Please don't go." The words came out more vulnerable than I intended.
Please don't leave me alone with him.
He gave me a knowing look. "Despite what you and Darien think, I do own a business. I have a club to open tonight." A faint smirk curved his lips. "Go talk to him. He's in his room. Brooding, most likely."
He stepped closer and placed a steady hand on my shoulder.
"You are stronger than you realise. Be patient with Darien, he's like a bairn learning to walk, just like you. I'll see you soon."
And then he was gone.
The silence he left behind felt enormous. The room seemed larger without him, the air heavier. I suddenly felt very small within it.
My gaze drifted to the hallway with the four doors.
I drew in a steadying breath.
Then I walked towards what I suspected would be a very awkward conversation.